


We All Need to Rest

by tinadp



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Prompt Fill, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinadp/pseuds/tinadp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an ambush Aramis is the only one left standing. He takes care of his brothers at the expense of his own health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We All Need to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Musketeers fic and the first thing I'm posting here. I'm kind of terrified, but very open to feedback. Please be kind.  
> Written in response to a prompt.

Aramis lowered himself to the floor, closed his eyes and leaned his head back to rest on the edge of the bed. He needed just a moment, he didn't want to lie down, he couldn't allow himself to actually sleep, but he needed to close his eyes. Once the others were better, once he knew they were out of danger, then he would sleep.

D'Artagnan moaned , stirring in his sleep and Aramis was instantly awake. He pulled himself up off the floor and went to the younger man to see what he needed. D'Artagnan's eyes fluttered for a moment before opening. Aramis smiled at the sight, it was the first time the Gascon had been conscious since the ambush. "How are you feeling?" Aramis asked softly, pushing the hair back from his friends eyes.

"What happened?" The young mans voice was barely a whisper.

Aramis sat on the edge of the bed. "We were attacked, you were wounded, stabbed in your side."

Aramis could see the anxiety in his friends face,"Athos...and Porthos?"

"They're alright," Aramis spoke soothingly, "They're sleeping, it's still early. " he felt relieved as he saw D'Artagnan relax. He felt badly lying, but upsetting him wouldn't do anyone any good. He needed to rest. "Have some water" He lifted his head and held the cup to his lips for a few sips.

"Thank you," D'Artagnan whispered, his eyes closing almost immediately.

Aramis could see him fighting to stay awake. "Rest now, I'm right here. Next time you'll be awake for longer. " He hoped it was the truth as he said it. He felt the fact that was awake was a very good sign, and he felt his anxiety and the tightness in his chest ease slightly. He make a quick assessment of his bandages and felt for his pulse, feeling encouraged it seemed a bit stronger. He would be sure to get him some broth next time he was awake.

He made his way to the other bed to check on the others. Both seemed to be sleeping fairly comfortably. Porthos' face still sported dark purple discoloration and horrible swelling, from above his left eye down the side of his face, most likely from the butt of a gun or some type of club. That side of his face was unrecognizable. Aramis knew they wouldn't be able to really know the extent of his injuries until the swelling improved. At least he was arousable at this point. He was sleeping most of the time but he would wake up when Aramis prodded him. His other injuries were painful but less serious, his hands were cut and knuckles split open and his back was heavily bruised as his attackers had continued to beat him once he lost consciousness. His breathing seemed regular and his pulse strong so Aramis chose to let him sleep a little longer before awakening him.

He then went around the other side of the bed to Athos. He had been shot while still on his horse. There was a gunshot wound to his thigh, it had bled a great deal before Aramis could get to him. Not too mention his horse had gone down partially on top of him. He had no idea the extent of his injuries and Athos had not really awoken enough to tell him. His breathing and pulse seemed unchanged and his bandage was dry so Aramis allowed himself to relax for a few minutes.

He was afraid to sleep, afraid that something might happen to his friends while he was sleeping, and he was afraid that he would dream. It was hard enough to keep the images out of his head when he was awake. The ambush had come out of nowhere. They were on their way back to Paris after delivering a gift from the Queen to the nuns at the convent. A group of bandits had been lying in wait and attacked. There was a large group of them and they were well armed. The Musketeers fought fiercely taking out many men, but Aramis had seen his friends go down one by one. In the end he had defeated the last of the bandits. When he turned to look for his friends, he at first could not find them. He was horrified to find they were all still down. He had to fight back panic to get to them all and see if they were still alive. He said a prayer of thanks that they were alive and a prayer for their survival.

Athos' wound was the most severe, he applied pressure and tied his cape around his leg to staunch the bleeding. He tried to minister to Porthos and D'Artagnan as best he could but he needed to get them....somewhere. As he stood in the field trying to determine his options a teenage boy approached on a horse.

"Are you alright Monsieur?" The boy asked, a frightened look on his face.

"I am, but my friends are not. Is there a doctor in the village?"

The boy shook his head,"No, I'm sorry. Maybe my grand-mere could help?"

Aramis had little hope an elderly woman could help, but he had no other options. The boy, called Henri, returned quickly in a cart with a frail looking woman who introduced herself as Marie. Within moments Aramis realized that she was anything but frail. She helped him and her grandson get the others into the cart after assessing their injuries with him. They returned to her home and she set them up in a room with two small beds off her kitchen. She worked with Aramis to treat their injuries and dress their wounds. She tried to tend to Aramis as well, but he refused any help for himself. He felt his own injuries were much too minor to warrant any attention.

Over the next days she had helped as much as she could and he would allow. He realized that she and get grandson must be working the farm alone. Apparently the boys father was in Paris on business and his mother had died the year before. He wished he had been able to help and repay her kindness but caring for his friends was keeping him busy day and night. She left him meals and broth and water for the others and she would often help him change the bandages. Aramis was reluctant to continue to accept her help without giving anything in return, but she was insistent.

He only realized he had dozed again when he heard Athos' hoarse voice calling his name. He stood up quickly, fighting a wave of dizziness as he immediately went to his friend. "Athos, what do you need?"

"What's happened? Where are the others?" Aramis could hear the hint of panic in his voice.

"They're alright, they are sleeping now. We were ambushed. You were shot, your thigh.... Let me get some broth. " Aramis ladled some broth into a mug and brought it to him. He supported him while he sipped it.

Athos looked at Porthos in the bed beside him and Aramis was grateful that he was on Porthos' right side. "What's wrong with Porthos?"

Aramis said a silent prayer that his lies would be forgiven. "He was hit in the head, he's bruised and very sore. He was awake awhile ago, he's just gone back to sleep."

"And...." The older man's voice cracked,"D'Artagnan?"

Aramis placed his hand on Athos' arm, "He's in the other bed, right over there. He's sleeping too, he has a wound in his side, but he'll be fine."

"And you Aramis?" Athos asked softly,"Are you injured?"

Aramis forced a smile,"Barely a scratch, someone had to finish the last of the bandits off. You should rest Athos, you're still weak. "

Athos looked closely at his friend, fighting to keep his eyes open,"You are sure everything is alright?"

"I am," Aramis reassured him, "Sleep."

Once Athos was back asleep he decided to check Porthos. He gently roused his sleeping friend. "Aramis, where are we?"

"We are staying with a lovely family until you are strong enough to travel back to Paris. How are you feeling?"

"Hurts," he gestured to his face and Aramis nodded sympathetically. "How bad is it?"

"There's a lot of bruising and swelling still, it'll get better in time...."

"What about D'Artagnan and Athos, are they hurt?"

"They are resting now. They were both awake just awhile ago. They're doing well. You need to focus on rest. Let me get you some broth and then you can go back to sleep" Porthos accepted the broth and like his brothers quickly drifted back to sleep.

Aramis barely knew if it was day or night. In the morning and evening his hosts would bring him meals that he barely picked at. They invited him to dine with them but he was afraid to be away from his friends for more than a moment. At least he had hope they would survive, in those first few moments he was afraid he wouldn't be able to save any of them. Finally exhaustion won out and after a last check of his three patients he climbed into bed beside D'Artagnan and fell almost instantly to sleep. The sound of D'Artagnan stirring beside him woke him a few hours later and the cycle started again.

He spent the next days, tending their wounds, offering fluids and eventually feeding them and reassuring them that the others were fine. It left very little time for sleep and by the end of the first week he was quite sure he was falling ill, his body was full of aches and a dull headache had become his constant companion. He told himself he needed to keep going until his brothers were out of the woods. Then he could sleep. Once help arrived from Paris, or when the others were fit to go back. Then he could sleep for days.

Marie was worried about him but he was stubborn and would not leave the side of his friends. Henri tried to help as much as Aramis would allow and took to sitting with Aramis in the evening after his chores were done, helping him care for the others.

Over the next days as the others started to regain some strength and spend more time awake, Aramis was surely getting sicker, as the lack of sleep, food and the overwhelming burden took it's toll. He would wake during the night, his sheets soaked in sweat from fever. His throat felt raw and he was developing a cough. He did his best to minimize his symptoms and conceal them from the others. After several days there was no denying his illness from his hosts or his friends.

One afternoon found Porthos and Athos awake and alert for quite some time together. Aramis had fallen victim to his exhaustion and was sleeping soundly beside D'Artaganan. The sound of his congested snores filled the room. The two injured men had managed to get a good look at each other and were beginning to gather a true understanding of their injuries.

Henri poked his head into the room and was pleased to see the two Musketeers awake. "Oh, you're awake! I'm so glad!"

"Henri, how long have we been here?" Athos asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Almost two weeks Monsieur. You were all so injured. We were very frightened you would not recover. Aramis....he never left your sides. "

Athos looked over at Aramis and didn't know if he should be angry or grateful, both he decided. "What about D'Artagnan, how is he?" Porthos asked with concern.

"I think he is better too," Henri began, "He's been awake more and he's been eating now too. We are worried about Aramis though, he seems quite ill."

The two men looked over at their friend, taking in the details if his flushed appearance and hearing his congestion. Athos frowned, "Stubborn bastard."

"What can we do for him?" Porthos asked, "We can't even make it out of bed?"

"We've been trying to help him, Mamere and I, but he won't let us do much. "

"Henri, we are very grateful for everything your family has provided us. We will be sure that Aramis accepts some help and we will do everything we can to repay your kindness and generosity once we are recovered. " Athos offered.

The boy brought them both some bread and broth and helped then sit up in bed to eat. After a time D'Artagnan stirred once again. "Aramis," he muttered sleepily, "You feel like you're on fire, move over. " Aramis continued to snore heavily and didn't stir.

Henri went to the younger Musketeer and helped him sit up in bed before bringing him some bread and broth as well. The three men spoke softly across the room and with Henri filling in the blanks they realized all that they and Aramis had been through.

Their conversation was interrupted by a fit of violent coughing that roused Aramis from a sound sleep. He struggled to catch his breath as the others looked in his concern. Henri fetched him some water and then his grandmother when the fit continued. She offered more water, and had Henri bring some tea heavily sweetened with honey. They all breathed a sigh of relief once the coughing finally stopped.

"Aramis, "Athos spoke firmly. "You've lied to us for two weeks." Aramis tried to interrupt but Athos put up his hand and kept talking. "You know we are grateful for what you have done for us. But look at what you've done to yourself. "

"You're burning with fever," D'Artagnan added.

"Aramis, you're ill, now you need to let us help take care of you." Porthos chimed in. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you..."

The tears he saw in Porthos' eyes were the thing that broke him. His own tears came easily and would not stop. "I was so afraid I would lose you all, that I wouldn't be able to save you..." Sobs took over words and D'Artagnan pulled himself closer to Aramis on the bed and put his arms around the sobbing mans shoulders.

Henri and Marie slipped out of the room, allowing the men their privacy. With great effort Porthos and Athos managed to get themselves out of bed and make the few shaky steps together to the second bed. They sat on the bed leaning in to embrace their brothers. By the time they pulled themselves together none of their eyes were dry.

The three injured men realized the severity of their injuries but also that they were in the mend. They were however, all concerned for Aramis' condition. After their emotional pleas, Aramis agreed that he would rest and take the time to recover as his friends convalesced.

Marie returned a short time later with a medicinal tea for Aramis which he willingly accepted. He was soon sound asleep once again. The Musketeers expressed their gratitude to the woman along with a promise to repay her kindness.

The next days were spent with the four trying watch over each other as best they could. The injured men were strong enough to be out of bed at least briefly, and they did their best to be sure that Aramis rested. He wanted to tend to the others, but he honestly felt too ill to be able to.

It was another week before Treville arrived, after his scouts had finally brought word of the whereabouts of his four best men. He escorted one of the kings coaches sent to bring the Musketeers home. He knew they wouldn't be fit to ride, but hoped at least they were well enough to travel by coach.

He was pleased to find his men recovering from the serous injuries that had been reported to him. Porthos' face still wore the effects of his bruising and swelling, and he and the other two still moved slowly and stiffly as a result of their injuries. Aramis was still not recovered from his infection. His color was extremely pale, and congested coughs still wracked his slender frame. It was him Treville was the most worried about.

Before leaving the small farm Treville presented Marie which a generous pouch full of coins. "From his majesty Madam, for your generosity and sacrifice in the care of his Musketeers. We are all most grateful."

The trip back to Paris was grueling for the four Musketeers. Even in the luxurious coach every bump in the road caused pain. All four needed assistance to get out of the coach and back to the garrison. They refused the infirmary and the others insisted Aramis be brought to his room and that they accompany him.

The kings physician was sent to examine them all. He found the others to be recovering satisfactorily but wanted Aramis in the infirmary. He refused and the others supported him promising to stay with him and report any changes. The physician argued but they would not relent.

Knowing his men, Treville did not even try to argue. He had more mattresses brought to Aramis' room. He knew if Aramis had gotten himself ill caring for the others injuries, they would not be leaving him until he was well again. He visited daily as did the physician for the first several days.

After a week Aramis finally found himself allowed out of bed. He was still shaky and weak, the cough was better but would still strike suddenly, taking his breath away. His friends still refused to leave him alone. Even as they worked to regain their own strength one of them was always with him. It got to the point that he would beg for privacy, but they were afraid to leave him. They knew how seriously ill he had been and how much he had neglected himself.

It was more than a month after their return before things started to get back to normal. The four inseparables returned to practice drills and began attending events at the palace. They were all especially aware of each other's injuries, of blows struck in training, of Aramis seeming out of breath. But over time, as they returned to their former strength the intensity of their concern faded a bit, though they never completely stopped watching and worrying. They were brothers after all.


End file.
